Unknown
by Lone.L
Summary: Oneshot. Some things, no one is ever meant to know. When polar opposites meet and destiny wavers, which truths will be questioned first?


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**Unknown**

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Some things, no one is ever meant to know.

The sheer subjectivity of the theories involving death and its aftermath is enough to turn anyone off of the subject, especially when added to the fact that most people are afraid of death—and reasonably so, for people are always scared of the unknown.

Science explains that death is simply another part of the cycle of life, and that although those who die lose awareness, in some way or another, their lives will always continue to move through the system.

But when one is a creature whose very existence defies both life and science, some things can only be explained so far.

She is a Homunculus. For her to have a soul is blasphemous. For her to have memories is impossible. For her to have thoughts, to question life, to feel love...these things are both improbable and simply out of the question.

Where does one come from, and, more importantly, where does one go when they die?

Some things, no one is ever meant to know.

Yet she still worries, and thinks, and broods continuously on the subject. And it bothers her. After all, why should one who will most likely never die care about death? Things such as these are foolish. To live forever is to never comprehend, face, or feel death.

But he...

He is a human. His life will end sooner or later, and he knows it well. Yet, he does not care. After all, when all will die someday, why should one who has so much life ahead of him worry about such things? To live for only so much time is to be able to live in the moment, and enjoy each experience while one can, knowing that there will come a day when these things can never be seen, heard or touched again.

He is strong. He has a goal, a purpose, a focus. His life, short as it is, is dedicated to this goal. And though he is destined to die, and the nature of his trade makes the odds so much more substantial that he will die very young, he perseveres. He does not waver.

She admires him more than he could ever know, and possibly more than she could ever comprehend. She is immortal. Powerful. Protected. He is mortal. Weak. Insignificant. Why is it, then, that the roles are so reversed? That he should be so determined, yet so vulerable, and she so hesitant, although so powerful, is incomprehensible.

That is why, over the time she has hunted him, in an unexpected twist, she has grown to love him.

Texts say that Homunculi should not have souls. Blasphemous or not, it appears that one might. They say that Homunculi do not have memories. Impossible or not, it appears that they do retain them, and they do experience them. They say that Homunculi can not love. Improbable, that is not. She knows that what she feels for him is real. That his determination, casting out all doubts and fears and doing what he knows is right, draws her to him.

She will live forever, and he will not. She will outlive him for hundreds of years, and beyond. They are on polar opposites of the same spectrum. But she still feels a deep affection for him, this supposed enemy of hers.

She loves him.

But why does she love him?

Some things, no one is ever meant to know.

She is beautiful, the epitome of her name in every sense of the word. Focused as he is, surrounded by supportive and pretty women as he is, he can't help but look at her that way sometimes, either. Who can? Is it wrong to lust for those who willingly accept the label?

The rain is coming down hard, turning the landscape into a mass of dark, cold, gray-tinted objects. It patters loudly, endlessly, as it hits the cobblestone streets. He sits under an awning, at a small circular table, eating his lunch and watching the rain fall. His golden hair is expertly braided, seeming wild yet somehow in check, a signpost that this person is exceedingly unique. His arms, both metal and human, are shielded by a flaming red coat, which hangs limply as he rests. The black garments he wears cover his torso and legs, and his boots are crossed at the ankles. His fierce, burning eyes that are as gold as his hair constantly scan his environment, always alert—always focused. As he takes a sip of his tea and yawns, violet eyes watch him.

She stands on the opposite side of the street, soaking wet and unshielded from the unyielding rain. Her long, dark hair trails out behind her, shining, dripping. The tight outfit she wears has become waterlogged and even tighter, accentuating her curves to the point where she is simply irresistable. Her heels are flat, holding her weight as she leans against the dark wall of an alley, watching him. Her large breasts threaten to burst from her clothes. Her luscious lips are curved in a smile.

Her heart is clenched.

It continues to pour; she continues to watch him.

She has been sent to kill him, for he is no longer useful to her master.

But even in his moment of vulnerability, when he is resting and not completely alert to the world around him, he radiates an aura of strength. She is drawn to him. Tethered.

She will not kill him today. Even a Homunculus knows that one does not kill the one they love, regardless of whether they are unsure of their true feelings, or what they are really feeling.

Maybe he will return her affections someday, if given the chance and the motivation.

He will die someday. But he has chosen to live and be content while he can.

Maybe, as long as he is alive, she can accept that as well.

The loud patters slow, gradually giving way to pitters. The torrent of water lining the streets slowly becomes a tiny stream. The world lights up as the clouds disperse and the sun shines through. A beautiful rainbow streaks across the heavens. He sets his tea down and smiles, observing the sky above. He places a bill on the table and then stands, blond braid flapping as he does. Without hesitation he turns to his right and strolls down the empty street, his gaze never faltering.

And she follows closely behind.

Where does one come from, and where will one go when one is dead?

Some things, no one cares to know.

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_Fin_

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**A/N: **Continuing my fascinating line of weirdly inspired, introspective Edx? oneshots. I actually like this one; the imagery and opinions I planted into it make me proud. And honestly, I can see LustEd happening. It's quite an interesting pairing, and relationship. 

What do you think? Review and let me know.

Thanks all.

**LL**


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